


The Point of (no) Return

by PsychicAbsol



Series: Points! [3]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Childbirth, F/F, Female Homosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4414562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicAbsol/pseuds/PsychicAbsol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For some, returning home means returning to a sanctuary. For others, returning home means returning to hell. And for Roxie, returning home meant facing responsibility."<br/>Sister piece and sequel to "The Point of Failure" by Mr. Dynasty, and the start of a series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Point of (no) Return

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Point of Failure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4232760) by [Mr_Dynasty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Dynasty/pseuds/Mr_Dynasty). 



> Sister piece I wrote because I wanted to thank Dynasty for his grandious gift story, dedicated to me. =3 (And because he refused to write the sequel himself. ) It's also pretty much the unofficial start of the "Point-Series", which will get more and more pieces as time goes on. I also want to thank my editor, who chose to remain anonymous.

It was, therefore, entirely the fault of her tear-filled eyes that on her first try out, she hit the glass décor of the door, stumbling backwards as she cut her forehead on the jagged shards. Blinded now by more than one kind of liquid, she turned sharply to the left and sprinted out as fast as she could, eyes kept closed at all accounts. She did hear a voice calling for her. It was unlikely that it belonged to anyone other than her lover, but that did not stop her flight. If anything, it quickened the rhythm of Roxie’s steps even more.

Scene Change 

Roxie had no clue when she had left, so asking her how long she was staying at the pub would have been an attempt in vain. She had half expected her phone to disassemble itself in vibration alert over the course of what likely amounted from a few hours to half a day, but to her surprise, she did not get a single call or even a message telling her that she should go fuck herself that night. 

The flight through the rainy, stormy and comparatively cold night had left her more sober than she would have liked to be. As if the punching bag full of responsibilities that life had decided to throw at her tonight hadn’t accounted for a great deal as well. 

As she sat on the bar stool, hunched over what may have been her sixteenth or her sixtieth drink that night, that nasty, grayish-slimy feeling of shame drilled its long, cold fingers into her sides, and no matter how much she drank, she couldn’t fully flush it out. All her determination and resolution had evaporated into one big, dark cloud of stifling smoke. All it had taken for her to crumble under the pressure was one sound, one realization. And gone, gone she was. 

That had been the point where Roxie could have proven herself to be worthy. Worthy to share her life with what accumulated to be a saint of a woman, given Sabrina’s incredible patience with her. Worthy to continue to live this relatively worry-free life. The point where she could have at least started to pay back all the troubles she had given Sabrina in the past. The point where she could have stayed with her through what was supposed to be one of the most joyful moments in a person’s life. 

And she had failed before it had even started. Had failed her own hopes. Had failed Sabrina. 

And worse, it was not even over yet. She could still turn back. She could still return home. There was a chance she could still make amends, before the inevitable came. 

But she was too afraid. She was too damn afraid of even the sight of the front door, and the thought of entering. She had no idea what to expect, or what to say, or what to do. 

She sniffed. She had fully expected to break into bawling tears any moment, but it seemed that for once, the waterworks were clogged by guilt. 

And so Roxie stayed where she was, and did what she did verifiably best. 

Scene Change 

The sun was already starting to peek over the pink wall of clouds when Roxie staggered home, courage less given by drinks or fatigue than by the sheer inevitableness of the confrontation. Given that it was summer, it must have been still very early in the morning, but she really couldn’t be bothered to look at a clock, when keeping her head upright was a challenge in itself. 

Likewise, it had been a challenge to keep her bike in a straight line, but who cared, as long as she reached her destination without a side trip into the roadside ditch, where she, for all intents and purposes, belonged. 

Coming to a sudden stop in front of the door, she found her level of bravery decreasing far faster than her blood alcohol level should have allowed it to. Head hanging and making sure that her steps were as soundless as possible, she tiptoed to the back door, not caring that she splashed her own legs when she failed to avoid the several puddles in her way. She already looked as ruined as she was. 

The silence that greeted her in the garage was upsetting in its own way. She sniffed, wiping her face dry with her sleeve. The bar and what was left in it were alluring her to stay and drink until she forgot. Maybe up to a point where she forgot her own existence as well. 

Sloppily, she shuffled over to the bar, and came to a halt when she kicked the leftovers of a glass with her feet, making it spin halfway across the room. She paused, bent over to pick up the glass shards and threw them into the far away trash bin with an accuracy a sobered mind would have been jealous of. 

She only realized that she wasn’t alone in the garage anymore when she straightened her back up again. 

In a way, it was almost scary to see her girlfriend in the half-light of the early morning, only half of her face illuminated, and these frightening red eyes staring deep into her face, even if she was wearing a cute light pink nightgown. Roxie would have given everything that moment for knowing the right words, or knowing how to apologize correctly, or to be able to open her mouth at all, but deep down, she knew there was no excuse for her behavior. None at all. 

“You’re home.” 

She sniffed again, breaking eye contact. She supposed that if she had wanted to, had truly wanted to, she could have bolted again. The back door was still unlocked. But running away now would have amounted to a failure so big she would have never been able to show her face in Saffron again. And so, she stood stiff, limbs and body nailed to the spot. 

“I fucked up big time, didn’t I?” If Sabrina punished her now, no matter how, then she deserved it. She would not be ready for it, but she would truly deserve it. If Sabrina threw her out the house now, empty-handed and bed-less, locked up the doors, never listening to her banging against the windows, leaving her to rot under the bridge where she belonged with the other hobos, then there wouldn’t be a single action in the universe left for her to take, since she absolutely deserved it. 

“Yes.” 

Roxie must have stopped breathing for a moment, since she felt herself exhaling sharply at the next words. Sabrina was walking closer to her. She was limping slightly, as the ex-rocker now noticed. 

“But I forgive you.” 

No reason. No explanation. Just that she forgave her, as simply as that. 

The pause between them started to lose its tenseness as the sun rose, and illuminated more and more of the room and their faces. 

“Come. I think there is someone you might want to meet.” 

Roxie nodded, too numb to question her. She followed her out of the garage into the house and up the stairs, always carefully choosing to stay a few steps behind her girlfriend, who held onto the stair-rail for support. 

It had been Roxie’s job to decorate the nursery. She wasn’t sure if she had done a very good job at it, concerning the clashing, shrill colors, but Sabrina had voiced no opposition. 

She didn’t know what to expect as Sabrina opened the door for her, and let her in. There was that nagging, restless piece of her mind that still questioned the plausibility of all of this, of her having a child, of her being a father…mother…parent. The exact terminology was so irrelevant that it could stay shoved up the dictionary’s ass. This was near impossible, so there was no single questionnaire in the world that could honestly depict their situation. 

And now, lying before her, already sleeping peaceful, was someone she had not believed to be existing. Was this all for real? 

She must have muttered the last words out loud, because there was a dysfunctional, rusty giggling behind her. “I am fairly sure the last hours were very real.” 

Roxie wanted to chuckle, too, but it didn’t feel right, not with the clump of guilt being glued into her throat. “I am sorry…” Her voice came out raspy, faltering. 

The psychic shook her head. “Do you want to hold her?” 

Effectively, Roxie must have nodded, because Sabrina stepped forward and slowly got the baby out of its purple and neon-blue crib, yet the blatant truth was that her head went swimming away again, with something that was neither soberness nor alcohol-induced disorientation. She had a daughter. She had a little baby girl. The formless individual that had been haunting her dreams for the past months gained an identity, a personality. 

Again, she must have squealed when Sabrina placed the newborn in her arms, because the psychic chided her and advised her to be more careful. “She’s so tiny!” 

The muttering to her side must have meant that Sabrina clearly disagreed with that statement. 

"I’ll leave you alone with her now. Please don’t fall asleep with her in your arms, and put her back into the crib.” 

In any other family, this might have sounded patronizing, but Roxie supposed that Sabrina had a point when she ordered her around, after her disastrous behavior tonight. 

“If you need me, I’ll be sleeping downstairs. I didn’t get around to washing the sheets yet.” The psychic paused as she stood just outside of the room in the gallery. “By the way, she has your eyes.” 

There had been no need to tell her, as the little girl had decided that moment to take a peek at the world around her. Her biological ‘father’ found it hard not to explode into joy at this moment. If there had been ever any doubt in her that this child was truly hers, and therefore, a miracle in more than one sense, well, that doubt was now shattered by eyes as strikingly blue as cloudless summer sky. 

The trouble, the worries, the fear had by no means vanished. There were still there, in the back of Roxie’s mind, nagging her and threatening to destroy this moment of delight fully. 

And, true to word, the waterworks were on again. 

She slowly walked over to the old rocking chair she had rescued from the garbage dump. Sabrina had been displeased at the idea of keeping the ancient, worm-eaten piece of furniture around, and especially around their child, but she had prevailed by refurbishing it by herself as good as she could. It was by no means as good as new, but it had a certain charm to it, and was stable enough to support her and the baby girl with ease. 

Roxie slowly began to rock, making it a point not to disturb or scare the babe on her arm. The sun was out now completely, and the puddles outside mirrored its blinding light. 

The ex-rocker giggled as she looked down. “I can’t promise I’ll always be there. Free life, and all that stuff, eh? It might take me some time to adjust to family life,’spose. But I promise that I’ll at least…try?” She paused, remembering that Sabrina had long since saddled her with the duty of naming their kid, on the account of her being horrible at names in general. Which meant that she would have to be okay with whatever Roxie choose, right? 

“Let’s rock an roll, Lexie.”


End file.
